


It's Gotta Stop

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8702827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: He’d told Dad they needed separate beds.  Sam was sixteen-years-old, for fuck’s sake.  He shouldn’t be sharing a bed with his older brother, no matter how tight money was.   It just led to immoral, depraved, insanely hot...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** So, since I have three writing projects already on the go - and a completely different Sam and Dean fic I could be working on if I really felt the need to pound that pooch into the floor - I thought it would be a fab idea to write a 3500 word PWP Wincest story. What can I say? I'm an idiot.

  


 “Sammy...” Dean’s voice was hushed, thick, and _so_ sexy sounding in the three a.m. quiet of their grubby motel room.  “This has gotta stop, man.”

Sam’s hands fell still.  Both of them.  The one strangling his own cock, and the one oh-so-gently feeling up his older brother’s leg.  He didn’t know what to do.  What to say.  He’d thought Dean was asleep.  Christ, why wasn’t Dean asleep?  It was three-fucking-a.m. in the morning!  Maybe _he_ could pretend to be asleep.  Just move his hand away from Dean’s body real casual like...

As if to deny his own nay-saying words, Dean reached down, cat-quick, and caught Sam’s hand; clamping tight around it to keep Sam’s fingers where they were. 

Sam let out a surprised sound – maybe a moan – and their Dad snuffled and rolled over in the bed next to them.  

“Christ, just finish it, then,” Dean whispered.  “Finish, so we can both get some sleep.  Okay?”

Shit.  

How was Sam supposed to finish now?  He certainly wouldn’t be able to finish the way he normally did, biting his knuckles and whimpering Dean’s name.  Not with Dean listening.  And watching, too, for that matter.   Sam could see the glimmer of his brother’s eyes quite clearly in the room’s neon-ambient, not-so-murky black.  

Shit!  

He’d _told_ Dad they needed separate beds.  This was ridiculous!  Sam was sixteen-years-old, for fuck’s sake.  He shouldn’t be sharing a bed with his twenty-year-old brother, no matter how tight money was.   It just led to immoral, depraved, insanely hot...  Well, in his fantasies it did, at any rate – and that was probably just as bad.  It wasn’t _helping_ with the whole infatuation, dying-of-lust-for-his-own-brother, thing Sam had been struggling with for the past year.  That was for damn sure!

“I’m...uhh...sorry I woke you,” he whispered back, gently tugging on his trapped hand in the hope that Dean would let go.  

Dean didn’t.  Instead, he turned over to face Sam fully and leaned in close until his lips – those perfect fucking lips of his – hovered just above Sam’s ear.  “I’ve been awake ever since you pulled your underwear down,” he said, the words whispered so growly-sexy-hot that Sam gasped and rocked his hips forward to hear them.  His cock brushed up against Dean’s naked stomach.  

Sam felt nauseous as a too-sudden rush of endorphins slammed into his bloodstream.  

“I wake up every time you jerk-off, Sammy.”  Dean rolled his cheek against Sam’s as his hand found its way to Sam’s waist.  His other hand was still trapped between them, clutching Sam’s fingers.  Dean smelled of leather and musk.  Of sex.  “I usually come with you,” his brother went on  “—when you moan my name—” 

Dean’s breath caught.  Held.  “Fuck, Sam,” he said on a shuddery sigh, a long second later.  “You gotta stop moaning my name.  It makes me crazy.”  

Sam quivered like a raindrop caught on the Impala’s windshield.  All surface tension and shine.  Nothing but liquid inside...completely transparent.  

Dean nuzzled the sensitive skin just behind Sam’s earlobe. “And the way you look at me all the time, like you’re imagining my hands on you...”  Dean licked then.  Did he _ever_ lick – a wet, swirling stroke all the way around the outside of Sam’s ear.  “Or is it my mouth you’re dreaming about?” he asked. 

Mmm.  Yeah.  Both actually.  But, yeah, Dean’s mouth definitely took first prize in all of Sam’s daydreams.  And now his brother was using that impossibly pretty mouth to tongue-fuck Sam’s ear.  

Sam groaned, the sound loud and depraved.  He was so turned on he was feeble with it.  

“Shhhh!” Dean finally let go of Sam’s hand, but only so he could slide his palm up over Sam’s mouth.  “You wanna wake him up?” he hissed, jerking his chin towards their father.  “I’m sure he’d be thrilled to find his boys fucking in the bed next to him.”

Is that what they were doing?  Where this was leading?  Oh, God.  Sam’s cock juddered and wept silken tears of gratitude as he ground himself into the taut skin of his brother’s stomach and groaned even louder.  He just couldn’t stop!  

When John came up on an elbow, both boys froze.  Sam figured that their father couldn’t really see anything, however.  The room was dark.  They were covered by a comforter.  Nothing goin’ on here, Dad.  

“You okay, Sammy?” he asked, his voice sleep-raspy.

Sam knew his eyes were huge over his brother’s stifling palm.  Dean’s gaze locked coolly with his.  “Yeah, Dad,” he said, his own voice composed.  “Sam’s fine.  Just had a bad dream.”  

Jesus Christ!  How was Dean _doing_ that?  Sounding so normal?  If Sam had been required to speak at that moment...

Well, no...if he’d had to speak they’d be royally screwed, ‘cause there was just no way. 

“I think we’re gonna go out for a bit,” Dean went on, dipping his thumb into Sam’s mouth as he spoke.  His lips peeled back from his teeth in a silent show of appreciation when Sam sucked it down.  “Walk it off,” he said to their dad.  “Wanna fuck you,” he mouthed to his brother.  It took everything Sam had to stay quiet.  To not just whimper and moan and fucking beg for it, like the slut he apparently was.  Screw the fact that their Dad would shoot them before they could get the deed done.  Sam was past the point of caring.

John lay back down.  “Mind the salt,” he said.

Dean wriggled his thumb, encouraging Sam to let go.  When he did, Dean’s fingers trailed down his brother’s cheekbone, the caress oddly tender.  “Get dressed,” he said sotto voce, eyes glittering midnight-bright in the gloom.  “I’ll meet you outside.”  

And with that, Dean was gone – a predator’s stealth in every sleek line of his body as he stole from the bed, threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, and silently snicked the room door open.  His profile was limned by the flickering neon-blue light of the hotel’s sign as he turned back to Sam.  With his flannel shirt hanging wide open to show off that wonderfully chiselled chest, he looked like a young God just touched down on Earth.  Inhumanly beautiful.

Dean smirked when Sam’s wandering gaze finally climbed up past his pecs.  “Don’t keep me waiting, baby brother,” he said, his tone dripping with incestuous innuendo.    

Sam forced himself to stifle yet another groan.   

John didn’t even stir.

The door swung closed and Sam scrambled off that bed like his ass was on fire.  No predatory stealth here, thanks.  Sam moved like exactly what he was – a horny sixteen-year-old about to get some.  Never mind the fact that he had no idea what the hell he was doing, and that the person he was about to _get some_ from was his too-cool-for-school older brother.  

Hell, maybe he’d dropped into an alternate universe.  Or maybe he was still asleep and having the hottest dream of his life.  _Whatever!_ Point was, Sam was going for it. __

...just as soon as he managed to get his jeans on.  

Stupid goddamned jeans!  How could the zipper have become cross-threaded in just two inches of fucking space?  

Gaahhh!  

Fuck it.  

Sam grabbed for a dirty tee-shirt – owner unknown – and knocked over the little plastic nightstand lamp in the process.  He slipped the tee over his head, letting it hang loose to hide his half-done up, painfully hard state, and then tried to right the friggin’ lamp.  Only, his hands were shaking so bad he just ended up knocking the damn thing over again.  Onto the floor, this time.  Where it clattered and rolled and made way more noise than a cheap plastic lamp should _ever_ be able to make.

“Jesus Christ, Sammy,” his father bitched, hauling a pillow over his head.  “If you’re going – go!”

“Sorry, Dad.  Sorry.”  

When he finally escaped,  Sam leaned against the cement wall outside their room and sucked in a few lungfuls of air.  He was gonna pass out, he was hyperventilating so hard.

“’Bout time,” Dean drawled.  

Sam’s head rolled on the rough cement as his gaze found his brother.  Dean was leaning against the Impala’s hood, smoking a...cigarette?  No, it was a joint.  Man, Dad would _flip_ if he found out.  

“C’mere.”  Dean widened his thighs and patted the car hood between them.

Sam’s gaze darted around, checking out the more than two-dozen windows that faced the parking lot.  Surely, Dean didn’t want to do this here?

“Now!”  

Holy shit!  Did Dean ever have Dad’s Sergeant-Major tone _down_.  Sam moved before he even realized he meant to, coming in close between his brother’s legs.  Dean smiled at Sam’s quick-step obedience – a sly, sexy grin – and took another hit from the J.  His palm settled low on Sam’s back and tugged him in even closer.  So close that Sam’s erection ended up squashed between them, pressed into Dean’s sternum.  

It felt good.  Really good.  Sam could probably come from this alone.  His hands landed hard on Dean’s shoulders as the youngest Winchester fought for control.  He’d be _damned_ if it ended like this.  Just keep it together, Sam, he silently willed.  You can—  

“Ya ever smoked, Sammy?” Dean asked, efficiently distracting him from his angst.  Sam noticed that his brother’s vowels were once again indolent.

Sam licked his lips, foolishly pleased when Dean’s smoky-green eyes tracked the movement.  “You’d be surprised what I’ve done, big brother.”  

He’d been going for sexy, and maybe a little bit mysterious, but the words just came out _stupid_...

Dean’s nostrils flared.  Has hand dropped lower to maul Sam’s ass.  “Is that so?” he purred.    

Oh, okay.  Maybe that hadn’t sounded quite as stupid as Sam had thought.  

Dean took another deep drag off the spliff.  “C’mere,” he said again, cupping the hand holding the joint to the back of Sam’s neck and pulling his head down.  

Sam had seen this done before – even though he’d never done it himself – and so he knew what to expect.  He was completely prepared for the scorching smoke his brother blew down his throat.  What he _wasn’t_ prepared for, was the jolt of pleasure that shot straight into his balls when Dean’s lips came over his own.  So of course, Sam choked, and coughed, and generally made a huge moron of himself.

Dean rolled his eyes.  “Man, you are so fucking _loud_ ,” he said, as he flicked the joint away and straightened up from his James Dean slouch.  This brought the boys eye to eye.  Chest to chest.  Groin to groin.  Yeah, at sixteen Sam could look his big brother dead in the eye.  Not that he always wanted to.  Like right now, for instance.  

For a hunter – being told he was ‘loud’ was just about the worst insult imaginable.  And Sam couldn’t even be mad about it.  Because Dean was right.  He _was_ being idiotically loud. It was just so damned hard to—  

Dean watched Sam’s thoughts chase each other across his face for a second before taking Sam’s cheeks between his hands and slanting their mouths together once again.  When his tongue surged into his baby brother’s mouth like it owned the place, Sam let out the longest, loudest moan yet.  

Dean drew back.  

Oh, no.  No, no, no.  Fuck.  “Dean, no,” Sam whimpered.  “I’m sorry, I just can’t...”   ‘help it’, is what he’d about to say, but –  Oh, crap – he could hardly say _that_.  Dean might actually stop.   “Don’t stop,” Sam begged, clutching his brother’s hips to keep him close.  “Please, don’t stop.  I can be quiet.”

With just one arched eyebrow, Dean gave Sam disdain and disbelief in equal proportions.  “Really?” he said, as his fingers combed through Sam’s hair, gliding soft over his scalp.  Then they suddenly, shockingly, closed into hair-pulling fists.  Sam bit his lips at the sexy hurt.  He _wasn’t_ going to blow this.  He _could_ be quiet.  Damn it, he _could_!

Dean was licking Sam’s lips again.  And biting –nippy little bites that had Sam grinding the enamel right off his teeth in his effort to stay silent.  He gave Sam’s hair another wicked tug, yanking his head back.  Sam’s throat arched.  It was painful.  It was great.  Sam groaned, but quickly brought his own hand to his mouth to stifle the turncoat noise.    

“Like that, huh?” Dean asked, as his teeth sank into the tense muscles of Sam’s neck. 

Sam’s forehead wrinkled.  Stars exploded on the inside of his eyelids.  He was _choking_ on the sounds trying to claw their way out of his body.  

Dean moved down an inch and did it again and Sam’s hand clamped so tight over his mouth that his fingertips left blue-white indents in the baby-smooth skin of his cheeks.  His other hand caught in the loose flannel of Dean’s shirt.  Dean shifted a bit so that his thigh came up between Sam’s legs.  

Flannel tore.  

 Sam’s hand flew off his face to yank Dean harder against him.  Not that that was really possible.  They were already so close he could clearly feel his brother’s heart.  It was pounding out a rhythm only slightly less frantic than Sam’s own.  “Fuck,” Sam gasped.  He was close to coming.  Too close.  “Dean,” he tried to warn.  “I...”

“Is this what you imagined, Sammy?  Me licking you?  Biting you?” Dean punctuated the words with the actions, God bless him.  “Is this what you wanted, baby?”

“Mmm.  Yeah,” Sam said, losing his train of thought completely.  Dean had that effect on him.    “Yeah,” he said again.  “Love you—I mean your mouth...I love your—”  

Dean’s thigh flexed and Sam gave up.  Gave up trying to speak – trying to think – trying to _not_ scream.  Everything.  Sam tossed it all to the wind.  And even though he knew that _anyon_ e could be listening – or watching – that knowledge did absolutely nothing to prevent his holler of pleasure.  It was perfect.  _Amazing._   Couldn’t possibly be any better...  

Dean’s hand crept into Sam’s open fly and wrapped around his cock, squeezing in rough counter-point to the pulses of ecstasy currently blowing Sam’s mind to teeny-tiny little pieces.  And, oh, hey! What do ya know?  Apparently, it could get better.  

Sam’s voice grew hoarse from how much better it could get.  

“So sexy,” Dean groaned, nibbling his way back to his brother’s lust-slack mouth.  “You’re so fuckin’ sexy when you come, Sam.”  He tugged Sam’s hand off the torn hem of his shirt, and shoved it down between them – into his own still zipped jeans.  

Sam groaned right back, way beyond any ability to sensor himself while palming his brother’s dick.  His wrist was at an awkward angle.  His fingers were falling numb from lack of circulation.  And it was _still_ freaking incredible – because _he’d_ done this to his brother.  Made him hard.  Made him groan.  Everyone who saw Dean wanted him.  Guy/girl.  Young/old.  Didn’t seem to matter.  They all wanted a piece.  But it was _Sam_ who had him.  Right in the palm of his hand.  

Sam.  

And he wasn’t _ever_ gonna let him go.  

Dean gasped, his warm, smoky breath washing Sam’s lips.  “Fuck, yeah,” he breathed.  “Touch me.”  He kissed as he talked – forceful, desperate swipes of his tongue.  “M’gonna shoot so hard for you, baby.”

Sam’s heart stopped dead in his chest.  Seriously, he was having a fucking heart attack this was so hot.  His cock kept right on flexing, the pleasure more like lapping waves than a tsunami now, but just as good, somehow.

“Ahhhhhh.”  Dean’s cock stretched and seemed to grow impossibly harder.  “Ahh, Jesus.”  And then he was coming, his entire body taut, his cock pulsing thick and wet into Sam’s hand.   

If Sam hadn’t been _right there_ he’d have never heard Dean’s gasp of release.  He was that quiet.  God, how Sam wished they were somewhere where his brother could just let go.  Sam wanted to hear Dean howl.  Wanted to hear him scream his pleasure right up into the night sky as Sam, himself, had just so unwisely done.  

On the other hand, this way was so very _Dean_. Sam’s brother was a hunter to the depths of his soul.  Always controlled... always sexy.  

Dean’s kisses turned languid as he came down from his climax, his tongue lazily possessive as it twined around Sam’s own.  “Next time, I _am_ gonna fuck you, you know,” he said, between knee-weakening swipes of his _insanely_ talented tongue.  And it wasn’t even fair how rough and low and friggin’ _erotic_ Dean could make his voice sound.

“Yeah?  Well, next time, I’m gonna let ya,” Sam agreed easily.  He didn’t bother trying to sound even remotely erotic.  What point in competing with a master, after all?  

One of Dean’s brows arched at Sam’s words.  When Sam tugged his come-slick hand out of Dean’s pants and licked his palm, the brow’s twin joined in on the climb into his brother’s hairline.  Dean moaned – right out loud – at Sam’s not-so-innocent display.  Hmmm.  Maybe Dean Winchester wasn’t always _quite_ as in control as he’d have people believe.  Wouldn’t that be cool?     

 “Shhh,” Sam admonished, a sly grin on his lips as he took not one, not two, but _three_ fingers into his mouth to suck clean.  It’s not like he’d never tasted come before, even if it was just his own. 

Dean’s expression contorted. “ _Fuck_ , Sam!” he gasped.  

“ _Fuck_ , Dean,” Sam imitated.  And okay, he did manage a pretty passable imitation of Dean’s amazing growl that time, if he did say so himself...

...the world lurched, as if God himself had suddenly slammed on the brakes...  

***

 “—n.”  

The sound of his brother’s name still rolled happily around on Sam’s tongue as he came awake.  Sam groaned and stretched, keeping his eyes squeezed shut against the too-bright sun.  He reached down to adjust his sticky cock and winced when he remembered that he was wearing his last clean pair of underwear...  

...Bah.  _Totally_ worth it.  

That was the best dream yet.  

Sam figured if sex was half-as good in RL as it was in his dreams, his head was gonna just explode the first time he climbed into bed with someone.  ‘Course, that someone probably wouldn’t be Dean – more’s the pity – so then, maybe his head would remain intact after all.  Who could say?  Sam certainly couldn’t imagine _anyone_ making him hotter than his older brother did.  Not even possible.  “Dean,” he murmured again, just for the joy of it.  “ _Fuck_ , Dean.”  

The two growled words brought the same throb of illicit pleasure that they had in his dream.  Sam smiled.  When he attempted to snuggle down deeper in the bed, though – maybe to recapture the dream and actually get to the sex part (It had to happen soon, Sam had been dreaming about Dean for months now.  Christ, even in his dream’s Dean was a cock-tease!)  – Sam realized that he wasn’t in bed at all.  He was in the car.  

His eyes snapped open so fast you could have heard the ‘sproing,’ if you’d been listening for it.  

Sam took in the unmoving strip of asphalt just outside his window, the rustling forest only a few feet away, and then slowly, soooo slowly, turned his head toward the driver. 

Dean was slumped way down, a joint dangling from his hand, his head lolling on the leather seat-back.  The air in the cabin was blue with swirling smoke. Jeez, Dean had better have the car aired out before they met up with Dad.  Their father would shit his pants if he knew Dean was smoking in the Impala.  Right on the heels of _that_ somewhat irrelevant thought came the wholly relevant and totally hysterical: ‘ Oh, God!  What the fuck did Dean hear?  What the fuck did he _see_?’  Oh, God.  Oh, Fuck.  Oh...

... _Fuck!’_

Sam was avoiding his brother’s eyes so hard, he found himself staring a hole into Dean’s crotch instead.  (That ever happen to you?)  He was _so_ flipped out, it actually took him a moment to realize what exactly he was staring at _._   

Dean sported an obvious hard-on.  It was side-lit by the late-afternoon sun, its shadow a long, crisp, exclamation point against the faded denim of Dean’s jeans. 

Sam’s throat clicked as he swallowed the involuntary flood of saliva that filled his mouth.  He tried to tear his gaze away.  He really, really did.  Somehow, though he was _still_ gawking at it.

“Sammy...” 

Dean’s voice was hushed, thick, and _so_ sexy sounding in the late-afternoon quiet of the lonely country road.  

As if a spell had been broken, Sam’s eyes flew up.  A muscle in his brother’s jaw ticked – tick, tick, tick – and his nostrils flared white with every strained breath he took.  Dean looked edgy, scared – like a racehorse ready to bolt.  

He was so beautiful.  _Inhumanely_ beautiful.  

“This has gotta stop, man,” Dean said, his face contorting.  “It’s gotta fuckin’ _stop!”_

_..._

 

 

 

 


End file.
